


Cubicle of Love

by chinesebakery



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Awkward Flirting, But it makes the fluff fluffier, Comedy, Epistolary, F/M, Female Friendship, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Friendship/Love, I ain't gonna lie to you, Instant Messaging, Late Night Conversations, Male Friendship, Meet-Cute, Office Romance, Romantic Comedy, Sandwiches, Scary big sister Bobbi Morse, Social Anxiety, Social Networking, Some Huntingbird on the side, Some angst, Worplace romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-16
Updated: 2016-05-29
Packaged: 2018-06-08 20:54:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6872959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chinesebakery/pseuds/chinesebakery
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>[Epistolary workplace romance AU] When Jemma Simmons receives an outraged email from one Dr. Leopold Fitz, she’s amused by his incendiary tone and can’t stop herself from writing back. They begin emailing back and forth until they become fast friends, confidants and… maybe more?<br/>Their friends and colleagues think they might be made for each other and need to meet in person, but Fitz wont hear it. It would ruin everything! Jemma’s charming, sociable and whip-smart, while he’s pathologically shy, self-conscious to the extreme and not so good with words in person.<br/>With a little help from fate (also known as Daisy, Bobbi and Hunter) perhaps they can brave it after all?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Many, many thanks to agentcalliope and everyl1ttleth1ng for their help and support.

"This isn't work," Jemma groaned, pressing the pulse points at her temples. "This is _hell_."

Helplessly, she glanced ahead to the rows of identical cubicle offices, standard issue desk chairs and the greyish sky of square acoustical tiles above them. She'd just spent a solid fifteen minutes trying to block out the constant beehive noises assaulting her from across the vast open space –aggressive keystrokes, lame office banter, phony high-pitched laughter– all the while staring blindly at the blinking cursor of her overbright screen. This wasn't what she was supposed to do with her life, was it? Surely her PhDs could be put to better use?

"You okay, Simmons?" Daisy's head peaked from above the partition, fancy hairdo and all.

Jemma forced a smile. Truth be told, she had no idea what Daisy was supposed to be doing during office hours. Her schedule was unpredictable, her outfits decidedly _not_ office friendly, and her mood always suspiciously bright, given the soul-crushing environment they evolved in. Coincidentally, Daisy was the only friendly person Jemma had met since she'd started at S.H.I.E.L.D. Inc, and she felt lucky they'd been assigned neighboring desks.

"Oh, I'm fine," she huffed unconvincingly. "I have a headache, is all."

"Another one?" Daisy frowned sympathetically. "You were fine at lunch. You sure you're not just allergic to this place?"

Jemma was desperately trying to find something appropriately funny or smart to reply to her perpetually bubbly cubicle neighbor when her computer emitted a loud ding, signalling an incoming email.

"Ugh, what now?" she muttered. She rarely ever got emails on her professional account; nobody seemed to know she was there, or care what she was doing. A robot could do her job, literally _._ As long as she kept deadline and did a semi-decent job at summarizing the scientific papers that were regularly dropped to the server for her benefit, she could probably play computer chess all day or come to work in her pajamas without anybody but Daisy taking offense. On second thought, Daisy would probably approve.

When Jemma clicked her inbox open, she gasped. The sole unread email's subject line ominously read: "You're not getting away with this." In capital letters.

Was it an unprecedentedly aggressive form of spam? Someone's deplorable idea of an office prank? It made no sense. She hadn't spoken more than two sentences in a row to anyone here and other than Daisy, Jemma doubted anyone on her floor could even remember her name properly. That very morning, she'd been welcomed by a muttered "Mornin' Gina" in the elevator. Jemma glanced around once more, her brows furrowing, but no one seemed to be paying much attention to her.

Jemma noted to herself that _hoping_ your first actual email of the day, barring a number of automated notifications, was from an exiled Nigerian prince with a partial mastery of English grammar, wasn't an indicator of skyrocketing career.

Huffing a breath, she braced herself for the worst and clicked the bolded sentence.

 

> From: Leopold Fitz <[ lfitz@shield.com ](mailto:lfitz@shield.com) >  
>  To: [ jsimmons@shield.com  
>  ](mailto:jsimons@shield.com)Subject: YOU'RE NOT GETTING AWAY WITH THIS
> 
> Simons,
> 
> I know it was you. You can't hide in that conference room forever.
> 
> That sandwich was MINE.
> 
> I bought the beefsteak tomatoes and the mozzarella at the farmer's market ESPECIALLY for the occasion and took great care in balancing the ingredients just right. The thought that it was all wasted on someone with such poor standards (and the palate that goes with it, no doubt) makes me sick to my stomach.
> 
> You're gonna pay for this.
> 
> Sincerely,
> 
> Dr. Leo Fitz  
>  Engineering R&D  
>  S.H.I.E.L.D. Incorporated

 

It took Jemma approximately half a second to understand what must have happened. S.H.I.E.L.D. was a large corporation and her surname was common enough; it wasn't all that surprising that a J. Simons, sandwich-stealer, might be employed by the firm as well.

At first, she scoffed. Then, as she read the message a second time, she started smirking. Some people took their food _way_ too seriously. And possibly had too much time on their hands, as well.  

As far as she could tell, her own fridge was empty but for sriracha and a couple of beers. No organic, thoughtfully hand-picked greens for her, thank you very much. Not that she opposed healthy eating in any way, but her days were typically long, industrious and sunless if not for the few rays she caught on her way to lunch and back. The very last thing she wanted to do at the end of them was to put additional pressure upon herself with a bout of competitive cooking.

Anyone who implied that cooking didn't _have_ to be competitive had never met Jemma Simmons.

"Something funny?" Daisy piped when Jenna snickered to herself.

"I'll let you know," Jemma said with a shrug before she hit the 'Reply' button.

 

> From: Jemma Simmons <[ jsimmons@shield.com ](mailto:jsimons@shield.com) >  
>  To: Leopold Fitz < [ lfitz@shield.com ](mailto:lfitz@shield.com) >  
>  Subject: Re: YOU'RE NOT GETTING AWAY WITH THIS
> 
> Dear Dr. Fitz,
> 
> I'm sorry to inform you that your missive didn't reach its intended recipient. I had a Caesar's salad for lunch, from that place around the corner, The Bus. It was quite decent, although dramatically overpriced, but in no way worthy of threats to a colleague, even in vague terms. The receipt must still in my purse, should you request evidence to corroborate my statement.
> 
>   
>  Best regards,
> 
> Dr. Jemma Simmons (see? Two 'M's)  
>  Biotechnology Documentation  
>  S.H.I.E.L.D. Incorporated
> 
> PS: Would you care to share the recipe of the sandwich you were robbed of? You seem quite taken with it. And it would only be fair, after raising such heinous accusations against me.

 

> From: Leopold Fitz <[ lfitz@shield.com ](mailto:lfitz@shield.com) >  
>  To: Jemma Simmons < [ jsimmons@shield.com ](mailto:jsimons@shield.com) >  
>  Subject: Re: Re: YOU'RE NOT GETTING AWAY WITH THIS
> 
> Dear Dr. Simmons,
> 
> Thank you for alerting me to my mistake.
> 
> The real culprit has been caught and is currently being dealt with.
> 
> For your edification: prosciutto, tomatoes, mozzarella, a few leaves of rocket salad and a dash of homemade Marinara sauce. And it was indeed very close to my heart. I've been perfecting the recipe for a while now and was very much looking forward to testing the latest iteration.
> 
> Sincerely,
> 
> Dr. Leo Fitz  
>  Engineering R&D  
>  S.H.I.E.L.D. Incorporated

 

> From: Jemma Simmons < [ jsimmons@shield.com ](mailto:jsimons@shield.com) >  
>  To: Leopold Fitz < [ lfitz@shield.com ](mailto:lfitz@shield.com) >  
>  Subject: Re: Re: Re: YOU'RE NOT GETTING AWAY WITH THIS
> 
> Please tell me you didn't recourse to violence. It was only a sandwich after all.
> 
> PS: May I suggest you switch the marinara for pesto aioli? I think you'll find it to be a far superior option.

 

"Interesting," Fitz said to himself, scratching his bristled cheek absently.

"What is?" His colleague, Lance Hunter, reluctantly looked up from his phone. "Did you finish the thing?"

"No," Fitz huffed indignantly, "I did not _finish the thing_. If you want it to go any faster, you might consider giving me a hand instead of doing… whatever it is you're doing." Fitz gestured toward Hunter's phone, which was a rather contentious subject between them.

"Hey," Hunter exclaimed as he glanced to Fitz's computer screen, "I didn't know you could use that."

"You didn't know I knew how to read and send _emails_?" Fitz asked, only mildly offended. He'd been working with Hunter long enough to take everything he said with a grain of salt.

"Well, you never reply to mine," Hunter countered broodily, fidgeting with his phone again.

"That's because all you ever send me is chain mails and cat pictures."

"Fair enough," Hunter shrugged, before his eyes narrowed with suspicion. "It's not about that damn sandwich again, is it? Who are you talking to?"

"No one," Fitz muttered self-conscientiously, turning his back to Hunter to stare at his screen again. "You don't know her."

 _"Her?"_ Hunter repeated, a smirk growing on his face. "Anything you want to tell Uncle Hunter?"

"Just– go back to your game, okay?"

 

> From: Leopold Fitz <[ lfitz@shield.com ](mailto:lfitz@shield.com) >  
>  To: Jemma Simmons < [ jsimmons@shield.com ](mailto:jsimons@shield.com) >  
>  Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: YOU'RE NOT GETTING AWAY WITH THIS
> 
> Don't concern yourself with the fate of Jeffrey 'Lunch-Thief' Simons.
> 
> Whatever happened to him, he had it coming.
> 
> PS: What's 'Biotechnology Documentation'? I didn't know such a department existed.

 

> From: Jemma Simmons <[ jsimmons@shield.com ](mailto:jsimons@shield.com) >  
>  To: Leopold Fitz < [ lfitz@shield.com ](mailto:lfitz@shield.com) >  
>  Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: YOU'RE NOT GETTING AWAY WITH THIS
> 
> Please note that I've just set up a number of Google Alert for the name Jeffrey Simons (with and without middle name and with various amount of 'M's, since that seems to be a common mistake). If anything suspicious shows up, I'm afraid I'll have to report you.
> 
> Essentially, I parse through scientific papers relative to S.H.I.E.L.D.'s domains of research. I summarize, compare and compile them, then I write recommendations I'm almost certain no one with ever read. Yes, this is about as exciting as it sounds. I'm still hoping to be back in a lab before long! I'm a biochemist, not a CliffsNotes writer.
> 
> What about you, Dr. Fitz? How are things in Engineering R&D?
> 
> PS: May I call you Leopold?  
> 

 

> From: Leopold Fitz < [ lfitz@shield.com ](mailto:lfitz@shield.com) >  
>  To: Jemma Simmons < [ jsimmons@shield.com ](mailto:jsimons@shield.com) >  
>  Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: YOU'RE NOT GETTING AWAY WITH THIS
> 
> Nothing would show up in a Google Alert, what kind of amateur do you think I am?
> 
> Well, I do work in a lab-devising non-lethal weaponry mostly. It's pretty cool, actually, or it would be, if my partner, wasn't playing doltish games on his phone all day long (worst kept secret in S.H.I.E.L.D., I'm fairly sure).
> 
> PS: Please don't. Only my mother is allowed to call me that. It's just Fitz for the rest of the world.

 

> From: Jemma Simmons <[ jsimmons@shield.com ](mailto:jsimons@shield.com)>

> To: Leopold Fitz <[ lfitz@shield.com ](mailto:lfitz@shield.com) >  
>  Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: YOU'RE NOT GETTING AWAY WITH THIS
> 
> Any chance he's playing something annoyingly colored and bright that consists in feeding candies to farm animals (which you should never do, if you're wondering)? Because I think that's what my cubicle neighbor is doing. I'm not very knowledgeable on the subject of casual gaming, I'm afraid.
> 
> By the way, should we be having this conversation through our work email? I mean, management seems pretty lax (I haven't spoken to my supervisor since my second day here) but…
> 
> PS: Duly noted. You can call me Jemma, of course, or Simmons, if you feel very strongly about surnames. I don't mind.

 

> From: Leopold Fitz <[ lfitz@shield.com ](mailto:lfitz@shield.com) >  
>  To: Jemma Simmons < [ jsimmons@shield.com ](mailto:jsimons@shield.com) >  
>  Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: YOU'RE NOT GETTING AWAY WITH THIS
> 
> Lax? That's an understatement.
> 
> You may have heard the Director is a bit of a urban legend. I'm told there's been a sighting of him about a year and a half ago, but I was unwell at the time and I missed it, unfortunately. Still bitter about that, I'm afraid.
> 
> My direct supervisor isn't a scientist –he doesn't care about office policies or processes much, only results.
> 
> But look, if you're worried, we can stop right here, okay? I understand.

 

> From: Jemma Simmons < [ jsimmons@shield.com ](mailto:jsimons@shield.com) >  
>  To: Leopold Fitz < [ lfitz@shield.com ](mailto:lfitz@shield.com) >  
>  Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: RE: Re: YOU'RE NOT GETTING AWAY WITH THIS
> 
> No, no, that's not what I meant. But I _would_ feel better finishing this conversation with my personal address, if that's alright with you? It's  biojem1987@gmail.com. I use the same handle on social media, if you want to add me on something.
> 
> PS: I don't usually hand out that information to colleagues but since I know all about your sordid history with Jeff-the-lunch-thief, I figure you'll know to be discreet.  
> 

 

From that moment one, she didn't hear another peep from Dr. Leopold Fitz. She checked her phone at regular intervals, even emailing herself to make sure the service wasn't down. Perhaps she had offended him by demanding they changed communication channels, or had seemed too forward, giving him personal details. She went through the rest of her afternoon with growing disappointment, redirecting her focus on the papers she was supposed to have finished by the end of the day.

By the time her notes were sent and her word day finished, she had written off the fortuitous correspondence as an isolated incident.

That night, on her way home, she walked past all her usual takeout staples and headed for the grocery store to buy bread, prosciutto, mozzarella and a few extra ingredients she figured might improve Fitz's "latest iteration", just for the sake of experimentation.

It wasn't until much later, when she was getting ready for bed, that at long last her phone dinged. When she picked it up, she found she had an incoming friend request from a @engineering-chimp –no other name or picture attached– as well as a new message.

The message only read: "Hi."


	2. Chapter 2

That evening, Fitz left work almost an hour late, having lost track of time once he'd managed to recover his concentration. Even if he went straight to Mack's office without stopping to pick up a snack first, he would be late for his weekly therapy appointment, _again_. He would be served with Mack's long-suffering, exasperated glare first thing, no doubt.

Fitz liked to think he was long past the need for therapy, but those sessions seemed much more instrumental to his mother's peace of mind that his own. He'd gone to a very dark place in the months that followed the accident, putting her through a lot of grief. If wasting an hour a week making non-committal small talk made her feel better, then he would keep doing it for as long as she liked.

Besides, he liked Mack. At first, he'd chosen him because he was the least shrink-looking therapist in town, with his linebacker build and his no-nonsense demeanor, but Fitz had learned to appreciate his offhand warmth and kindness. He was patient in the face of Fitz's avoidance, to the point of claiming his resisting counselling might have a positive outcome in the long run. Mack also had an interest in mechanics, which at least gave them a topic of conversation when Fitz was fresh out of platitudes to share.

Besides being a decidedly reluctant patient, Fitz had to be the most boring one imaginable. Nothing much happened to him and he quite liked things this way. He went to work, exercised his brain to the max of its current capacity, and went home to crash on the couch in front of old Doctor Who or Red Dwarf episodes.

Fitz certainly hadn't been a social butterfly before the accident, but in recent years his circle of friends had been reduced to next to nothing, and he didn't mind. Talking required much more of an effort than people realized, even if he rarely stammered anymore. It was still a constant, demanding mental gym to find the right words or an adequate substitute for the most elusive ones, and social situations accentuated his stress. Fitz liked to pretend that he barely tolerated Hunter but nowadays, he and his girlfriend Bobbi were the only people close to him save for his mum, who lived a continent away.

That day, Fitz didn't mention Jemma during his therapy session. He knew Mack was bound to make it more of a thing than it was, and Fitz doubted it was anything but a glitch. A nice, intriguing glitch, but a glitch nonetheless.

When he finally made it home, it was after 9 and he was positively starving. Fitz settled down by the laptop with his takeout carton. As he attacked a hefty portion of noodles, he typed the handle "Biojem1987" in a search engine, as he'd longed to do for hours. When Jemma's profile page came up, he froze and stared for a while, mouth agape and dinner forgotten.

Dr. Jemma Simmons looked about his age, as her handle suggested. She had chestnut brown hair, hazel eyes and a large, toothy smile. She was also certifiably, unquestionably beautiful. The kind of beautiful that would leave him a stuttering mess, were they to ever meet in real life. Infuriatingly, Jemma's account was set up to "private", which meant only her "friends" could access her posts and pictures.

Huffing a long, resigned sigh, Fitz mentally prepared to do something he'd sworn to avoid at all costs for as long as he lived. He took another glance at her picture to fortify his decision, but it didn't stop a shiver of unease from running through him as he clicked the "Create an account" button.

***

Jemma was lying on her bed with her phone in her hand, staring at the generic silhouette profile picture next to Fitz's laconic "Hi".

She was a little miffed that he'd ignored her suggestion to pursue their conversation for so long, and was very tempted to let him stew for the rest of the night, the same way he'd done her.  Unfortunately, her curiosity was overwhelming, and it was only a matter of minutes before she caved and pressed "Reply".

   

> **@Biojem1987:** Leopold, is that you?
> 
> **@Engineering-chimp:** Please don't call me that. Please.
> 
> **@Biojem1987:** I had to check, you see :)
> 
> **@Engineering-chimp:** Haha. You're a funny one.
> 
> **@Biojem1987:** Well, you can't blame a girl for being careful. You could be anyone. A stalker. A pervert. An actual chimp.
> 
> **@Engineering-chimp:** Damn, you've unmasked me. I am all of these things.
> 
> **@Biojem1987:** Why am I not surprised?
> 
> **@Engineering-chimp:** Because you're a psychic?
> 
> **@Biojem1987:** Correct, although I prefer the term 'clairvoyant'.
> 
> **@Engineering-chimp:** Interesting. Do you favor tea leaves or coffee grounds?
> 
> **@Biojem1987:** Well, personally, I find that cat livers work best.
> 
> **@Engineering-chimp:** Okay, that's revolting and gross. I don't think I want to talk with you anymore.
> 
> **@Biojem1987:** That's fine by me. I was about to go to bed, actually.
> 
> **@Engineering-chimp:** Alright. I won't keep you up, then. Goodnight.
> 
> **@Biojem1987:** Goodnight, Leopold.

   

If she was honest with herself, Jemma was a little disappointed that he hadn't pressed for her to stay on a bit longer. She'd never been one for virtual anything, but conversing with Fitz appeared to be fun and effortless. It had been a while since she'd made a new friend, and she found she might like to make one of Dr. Leopold Fitz.

If anything, she was looking forward to riling him again.

***

Fitz spent the next two hours compulsively going through Jemma's social network history, and feeling awfully guilty for doing so. Turned out he really _was_ a stalker.

Jemma Simmons was a bit of an old duck. She liked fancy but conservative blouses and ties with questionable prints on them, green tea, her native England, horrible chemistry puns and all things Doctor Who –Fitz may have hooted with joy when he first saw those posts.

She was an avid reader and her passion for science seemed to bleed into every aspect of her life. She didn't appear to have that many friends, which was baffling to Fitz.

Earlier that year, she'd been dating some smug-looking, hogfaced guy that Fitz hated on sight, but there was no mention of him in the last two months or so.

There was not one picture in which she didn't look stunningly pretty, not even the unflattering one that showed her in sweatpants with her hair in a messy bun, eating pastry in the street.

That night, Fitz dreamt of a pretty face with sparkling hazel eyes staring at him with longing and affection and acceptance and when he woke up, he was heartbroken that it had been a dream.

***

   

> From: Just Fitz <engineering-chimp@gmail.com>  
>  To: Jemma Simmons < [ biojem1987@gmail.com ](mailto:biojem@gmail.com) >  
>  Subject: Re: What's your Doctor's number
> 
> I can't believe you.
> 
> You're so wrong, I don't believe anyone has ever been that wrong in the entire history of humankind. Tom Baker is BY FAR the best Doctor incarnation ever, that's a universally accepted fact. Arguing otherwise would either make you a tasteless fool or constitute shameless trolling.
> 
> Are you trolling me, Dr. Simmons?

   

Jemma snorted loudly as she read Fitz's latest email. They'd been bickering endlessly for days and she wasn't surprise that he would strongly oppose her liking of Peter Davison and David Tennant, as he had everything else.

"Okay, Simmons," Daisy suddenly said, raising up to survey Jemma from above the partition. " _Spill_."

"What do you mean?" Jemma replied innocently, placing her phone face down on her desk.

"Oh, come on. That phone hasn't left your hand for days and –look at you. You're _smiling_. Grinning like an idiot, even."

"I am _not_!" Jemma exclaimed, schooling her features in a pout.

"Alright, what about the phone graft?"

"I don't– It's just–"

"Simmons has a new boyfriend," Daisy sing-sung, loud enough to be overheard, much to Jemma's horror.

"Shh," Jemma gestured, desperate to quitened her. Daisy rolled her chair around the partition to sit directly next to Jemma.

"What does he look like? Is he cute? Is he nerdy? I bet he's really nerdy. Sounds like your type."

"It's not like that!" Jemma stressed, rolling her eyes.

Sensing her disadvantage, she proceeded to recount to Daisy –in broad strokes– her budding 'relationship' with Fitz. Immediately, and despite Jemma's protestations, Daisy grabbed Jemma's phone and clicked on Fitz's non-existent avatar.

"Uh," she frowned. "His account was created four days ago."

"I know," Jemma shrugged. "There's nothing there."

"You know what that means right?" Daisy furrowed her brows. "It's a dummy account."

"Why would he use a dummy account?"

"Because he doesn't want to use his real account to talk with you?"

"What!? That's absurd. Why would he do that?"

"Lots of reasons. For a start, he could be older. Like, retirement age older, with a taste for young and perky biochemists."

Daisy raised an eyebrow to mark her point, which made Jemma grimace in response.

"He says he's 28," she countered, crossing her arms defensively.

"Just like you. _What a coincidence_."

"Were you _always_ that cynical?" Jemma wondered.

" _Yes_ ," Daisy snorted. "Believe me, I came out of the womb jaded, salty and fed-up with the world."

"Well, I'm not," Jemma shrugged.

"Oh, come on, Jemma. You know the most logical explanation for this," Daisy replied, with a touch of irritation. "He's taken, maybe even married, and looking for a piece on the side!"

Jemma was prepared to shrug off whatever objection came out of Daisy's mouth, but instead, she froze, as her friends words rolled around inside her head.

***

Fitz was hard at work when his phone chimed, drawing unwanted attention from Hunter. Instantly, he cursed himself for forgetting to turn the ringer off once again.

"What was that sound?" Hunter asked innocently, although Fitz could feel him staring at the back of his head.

"Nothing," Fitz grumbled before fishing his phone out of his pocket.

   

> **@Biojem1987:** So, I have a question for you.
> 
> **@Biojem1987:** Are you married?

 

"What the hell!?" Fitz scoffed, staring at the baffling inquiry, just in case he'd misread.

"Is anything the matter?" Hunter asked in the same unassuming tone of voice, his smirk somehow plainly audible regardless.

   

> **@Engineering-chimp:** Sorry what?
> 
> **@Biojem1987:** Well, are you?
> 
> **@Engineering-chimp:** No. I'm not. Why would you ask me that?
> 
> **@Biojem1987:** Why was your account created 4 days ago?
> 
> **@Engineering-chimp:** Because you didn't want to talk using our @shield email addresses?
> 
> **@Biojem1987:** What about your regular account?
> 
> **@Engineering-chimp:** Do you mean the one that doesn't exist? There is no other account, okay? It was a painful process, one I'm not willing to repeat.
> 
> **@Engineering-chimp:** They wanted to know so many things. Too many. I was this close from giving up.
> 
> **@Biojem1987:** Yet somehow you managed to field every question. There is not one piece of personal information on your profile page.
> 
> **@Engineering-chimp:** If you want to know something, just ask!
> 
> **@Biojem1987:** Okay!
> 
> **@Engineering-chimp:** Okay.

 

Fitz stared at the screen for some time, waiting for a barrage of increasingly personal and uncomfortable questions, but nothing came. After a while, he stuffed his phone in his pocket again, huffing an exasperated sigh.

"So," Hunter came to lean against Fitz's desk, his arms crossed over his chest and an earnest expression on his face. "Are we gonna talk about your lady trouble?"

"H– What are you talking about?"

"You're distracted, constantly texting and not nearly as grouchy as your default level, so, I figured…"

Reluctantly, Fitz told him the basic facts of his days long conversation with Jemma, up until her recent and seriously odd line of questioning.

"That's a good sign, mate. A really good sign," Hunter insisted, patting his shoulder.

"How is her thinking I'm lying to her a good sign?"

"She's _interested_. That's all that matters. Friends don't freak out about their friends being hitched."

"I would have thought a little bit of trust would matter more too."

"Can't blame her for being careful. She's a _girl_ , Fitz, a pretty one, too. She's used to guys blowing a lot of smoke to get into her pants."

"Well," Fitz edged away from Hunter, hoping to hide his flushing face, "that's not what I'm doing."

Hunter remained silent for a few moments, and when Fitz turned back to him, he found him staring acutely back with one eyebrow up. Before he could say anything, Fitz felt his phone vibrate against his thigh.

   

> **@Biojem1987:** I'm sorry. My cubicle neighbor is trying to spread her crazy. Please forget I said anything.
> 
> **@Engineering-chimp:** Okay.
> 
> **@Biojem1987:** Are we good?
> 
> **@Engineering-chimp:** Sure. I already knew you were weird, anyway.

 

As he worked inefficiently for the rest of the afternoon, Fitz tried to digest that latest development. Not in his wildest dreams had it occur to him that Jemma might come to think of him as something more than a faceless colleague she could chat with when the mood struck.

Not that anything would ever happen between them, obviously. But it was nice to know that it could have, in some alternate universe. Really nice.

***

Daisy Johnson was a woman on a mission.

That evening after work, she set out to make in-depth searches in all the local dailies archives, expecting to find a wedding announcement, at the very best. Instead, she exhumed a couple of articles relating the tragic near-drowning of one Dr. Leopold Fitz, after his car had gone off the road and into the river, trapping him inside, on a rainy night a year and a half ago. The articles weren't sufficiently detailed for Daisy's liking, but she did find out that his brain had been deprived of oxygen for a long time, leaving him with a set of lifelong conditions.

Daisy would have had no qualm whatsoever denouncing a liar or a cheat, but this was a different matter entirely. She debated calling Jemma for a long time, but ultimately ruled that it wasn't her truth to tell.

***

Jemma was settled in bed under her mountain of duvets, but the book she'd intended to read before falling asleep was lying next to her, unopened. Her phone hadn't left her hand from the moment she'd slipped between the sheets.

She'd been worried her sudden interrogation might have dampened their easy banter but much to her relief, Fitz had joked about it for a minute before dismissing the topic entirely. What she'd meant to be a quick 'goodnight' message had quickly digressed into another fast tracked conversation, and she found she didn't mind one bit.

   

> **@Biojem1987:** Do you miss Scotland?
> 
> **@Engineering-chimp:** Not really. I miss my Mum, but that's about it. I don't really get attached to places.
> 
> **@Biojem1987:** I miss Sheffield. I miss driving on the correct side of the road and people having a sense of humor and just... being home, you know?
> 
> **@Engineering-chimp:** And the weather, of course.
> 
> **@Biojem1987:** Of course! Sometimes I wonder what I'm doing here. It's not like I'm building a brilliant career or anything.
> 
> **@Engineering-chimp:** You're working for S.H.I.E.L.D. that's impressive enough. Most scientists our age can only dream of it.
> 
> **@Biojem1987:** I guess… When did you last go home?
> 
> **@Engineering-chimp:** I spent some time at my Mum's a little over a year ago, but it wasn't a very pleasant trip. What about you?
> 
> **@Biojem1987:** I was there for my last birthday. I fought with my parents the entire time.
> 
> **@Engineering-chimp:** Sorry to hear that.
> 
> **@Biojem1987:** It's okay. Nothing unusual there. They're not very happy with my being here, either.
> 
> **@Engineering-chimp:** They probably just miss you.
> 
> **@Biojem1987:** If I were to move back to England, they would find faults with everything I did from the moment I got off the plane.
> 
> **@Engineering-chimp:** That kind of parents, huh? My mum's the opposite. If I murdered somebody, she'd help me bury the body and then praise me for not getting caught.
> 
> **@Biojem1987:** Is this about Jeff again? Are you planning something nefarious, Dr. Fitz?
> 
> **@Engineering-chimp:** I'm not saying a word. You'll have to ask your cat's liver.
> 
> **@Biojem1987:** I'm too tired and all my supply cats must be sleeping. Don't take any rash action until tomorrow morning, okay?
> 
> **@Engineering-chimp:** Damn, I hadn't seen the time, sorry. I tend to forget you need more sleep than a hyperactive toddler.
> 
> **@Biojem1987:** Sleep deprivation seriously impairs cognitive functions, Fitz. That's a scientifically proven fact.
> 
> **@Engineering-chimp:** I would keep that in mind, but as I'm sure you know, lack of sleep is detrimental to memory, so... Night, Jemma.
> 
> **@Biojem1987:** Goodnight, Leopold.
> 
> **@Engineering-chimp:** Okay, I take it back. I hope you have a terrible night and dream of flesh eating ants the entire time.
> 
> **@Biojem1987:** Driver ants you mean? Oh, they're fascinating creatures. Did you know in East Africa, they're used as emergency surgical staples?
> 
> **@Engineering-chimp:** Please do NOT tell me more.
> 
> **@Biojem1987:** The Dorylus' jaw is so strong, if you get them to bite on both sides of the wound and break off the body, there's your emergency sutures!
> 
> **@Engineering-chimp:** …and now I can see I made a terrible strategic mistake. Thanks for the nightmares, weirdo.

 

With a wide grin on her face, Jemma plugged her phone into the charger and set it on the nightstand next to her.

The thought occurred to her, as she tried to fall asleep, that Fitz had been the first and last person she'd spoken to that day, which was quickly becoming a motif of sort. It was rather odd, how much space he had come to fill in her life in a matter of days, without her even seeing his face. Daisy's warnings crossed her mind again, but she quickly chased them away.

Just as she turned off her bedside lamp, her phone lit up, signaling a new message. She was smiling again before she even picked it up.

   

> **@Engineering-chimp:** So, I'm googling your little pals and studies show they're evolving fast, increasing their brain size and acquiring the sense of sight.
> 
> **@Engineering-chimp:** We're all doomed. Sweet dreams.

 


	3. Chapter 3

Fitz was sprawled on top of the covers, the documentary playing on his laptop going completely ignored as he texted back and forth with Jemma. He was keenly aware of his becoming one of  _ those _ people, the kind to toy with their phone in the street, in the bus, in the line at the supermarket, and looking perpetually startled if anyone dared to address them directly. He could hardly ignore that Hunter felt supremely vindicated for all the times Fitz had pestered him to put down his damn phone, and his smugness was fast becoming insufferable. But the fact remained that talking with Jemma was the best part of his day, and if he had to put up with Hunter's stay-on smirk to keep it going, so be it.

> **@Biojem1987:** I swear, you have the diet of an unsupervised sugar-addled middle-schooler. Do you happen to have a strenuous physical activity regimen to support?

Fitz snorted, resisting the urge to pull down the cover to look down his decidedly not toned body. 

> **@Engineering-chimp:** Err, yes?
> 
> **@Biojem1987:** Very convincing. I dare not ask what you typically have for breakfast.
> 
> **@Engineering-chimp:** That's probably for the best.
> 
> **@Biojem1987:** For your information, anything that comes simultaneously in all the colors of the rainbow is not real food.
> 
> **@Engineering-chimp:** Funny, I seem to remember seeing photographic evidence of you enjoying something that was neither lean protein nor fresh and seasonal fruit.
> 
> **@Engineering-chimp:** Right from the box. In the middle of the street.
> 
> **@Engineering-chimp:** Clearly SOMEONE is craving saturated fat and refined sugar.
> 
> **@Biojem1987:** Oh, that's low, Leopold. Very low.
> 
> **@Biojem1987:** You know, maybe it's time you sent me some incriminating pictorial documentation of yourself. It would only be fair.

Instantly, a wave of dread washed through Fitz. She'd thrown hints before, here and there, but it was the first time she went for it head on and all but demanded a picture. Of course she wanted to see his face, they'd been chatting for day, it was only natural that she wanted to know what it look liked.

But exchanging pictures was crossing the boundaries he'd set up in his mind for their peculiar relationship. It was more than a little hypocritical on his part, certainly, since he'd seen the dozens of selfies and candid shots she had posted on the internet over time, although technically, he'd never asked for those.

Perhaps she was right that it wasn't fair, but he  _ liked _ that distance between them. Needed it, even. He wanted to remain an abstraction, to let her assign him traits she found appealing in her mind. Whatever she imagined had to be better than how he felt, which was either ordinary or damaged, depending if he was on a good day or a bad one.

One day soon, he knew, she'd grow bored and move on to someone who could talk to her in person without stuttering or scouring for words, who wasn't satisfied living like a hermit and would happily take her out on a date, holding her hand without shaking–

Before his train of thoughts descended further down the rabbit hole, Fitz concentrated on clearing his head enough to come up with a clever refusal, while the silence stretched to an uncomfortable length. He was about to start typing when his phone vibrated in his hand, and he could all but hear Jemma's sigh as he read her latest message.

> **@Biojem1987:** Nevermind, forget I said anything.
> 
> **@Engineering-chimp:** It's not that I don't want to, it's just that I have this freakish condition. Long story short, I don't appear in pictures. Or mirrors. 
> 
> **@Biojem1987:** Does that make you a ghost or a vampire?
> 
> **@Engineering-chimp:** Funny you'd ask, I happen to be both.

***

There was absolutely no doubt in Jemma's mind that  _ Leopold _ was to blame for the terrible morning she was currently soldiering through. He had kept her up way past her usual bedtime with some admittedly highly entertaining horror tales from his days as the one and only boy genius his town's sole primary school had seen in a generation or two. Therefore, it was entirely his fault if she'd fallen asleep mid-text with her phone in her hand, thus forgetting to plug it in for the night. As a result, the battery had died and she'd missed her wake-up alarm. 

At any other time, she wouldn't even have needed it –her body was like clockwork– but all those late night conversation were upsetting her routine and her precisely scheduled life.

That morning, her body had radically rebelled against her getting less than her customary seven hours of sleep for several nights in a row. Jemma slept right through the 25 minutes allotted for her 5K daybreak run on the treadmill and most of her appointed breakfast time, waking up with a start at nearly 8AM with the distinct feeling of being in the wrong.

As the kettle warmed, Jemma rushed around in a mild panic, grabbing the first outfit she could put her hands on without even bothering with color coordination, and pulled her hair into a neat ponytail that gave her at least some semblance of a proper and professional appearance.

Within 15 minutes, she was trotting down the street with a to-go tea mug in her hand, making it to the bus stop just in time to see it cross the corner, driving away without her. She would be late, there was no way around it now, and that knowledge made her stomach twist into knots. She'd never been later to work before, not even that time she was so ill with the flu she could barely put a feet in front of the other. Her parents took punctuality  _ very _ seriously and had taught her that being late was a grave disrespect of other people and their time. Even from the other side of the Atlantic ocean, it felt as if they could sense her being a disappointment once more.

As she waited for the next bus, she toyed with her dead and useless phone. 

***

Jemma didn't reply to his good morning text. At first he didn't think much of it and continued on a one-sided version of their jabbing routine. He told her about the dream he'd just had of becoming a curly-haired orangutan after a freak accident in the lab, and how disappointed he'd been when he'd woken up to find he wasn't actually living the life in Borneo's rainforest.

When she didn't reply to that, he became antsy enough to send her a picture of his large bowl of Fruity Cheerios, certain that it would elicit some kind of reaction, but again, to his dismay, nothing came.

As he went through his admittedly minimal morning routine, Fitz kept wondering if he'd said or done something to anger her. Her replies had dried up rather abruptly, but he was quite certain she'd just fallen asleep. Perhaps she was more annoyed that she'd let on that he wasn't more forthcoming on the matter of the picture. Either way, Jemma's uncharacteristic silence was proving too bothersome for comfort, which was  _ precisely _ why he usually avoided get involved with people as a rule. He didn't want his sanity to depend on someone else's mood.

***

"Hold the door!" Jemma half-shouted, half-pleaded as she raced to the almost-full elevator, the sound of her steps echoing obnoxiously in the high-ceilinged hall.

"Hi, Jenny," Kara Palamas, from HR, said distractedly as Jemma stepped in next to her. Jemma didn't bother correcting her –the last thing she wanted to do just now was to draw attention to herself and her lateness– and gave her a small nod. 

"7th, please," she said to the man standing by the elevator's controls.

***

Dr. Jemma Simmons, two 'M's, was standing at just about arm-length from him in a cramped elevator, and she was staring at him with an increasingly quizzical expression. Fitz was frozen into place, a shiver of panic creeping up his spine. Why did it feel like getting caught?

"The 7th, please?" Jemma said again, her impatience plainly audible under the unmistakable British lilt.

Coming back to himself, Fitz pressed the button to her floor and immediately shoved his trembling hand back in his pocket, mumbling an apology. He did his best to keep his eyes firmly planted on the floor, but they kept flicking back to Jemma's face on their own accord –how could they not when his heart was pounding in his chest and he could feel sweat pearling at his forehead just because she was there?

She looked exactly like she did in pictures, but also entirely different. He couldn't pinpoint why exactly, other than the fact that she wasn't smiling, and actually look quite displeased. Maybe it was her hair, all pulled back like that, that made her look more severe. It only made Fitz long to see that toothy smile up close all the more, perhaps even to see her laugh when he berated her for calling him Leopold in person.

He should say something, probably. He  _ wanted _ to say something. Eluding her hints by texts and pretending he didn't know her when she was close enough to touch were two different things entirely. Still, the mere idea of deviating from the linear and simple path he'd envisioned made his ears burn and his stomach clench in a rather unpleasant way. 

Whatever it was they had going was only worth having because he could filter out the stuttering, the tremors, the nightmares, the bouts of depression… all of it. 

However, before he could make the conscious decision not to introduce himself, the elevator dinged and she all but jumped out of it. 

***

> **@Biojem1987:** Sorry, my phone was dead. I forgot to plug it in. Which was your fault actually, but let's not get into that.
> 
> **@Biojem1987:** I can't believe I was late for work! It never happened before.
> 
> **@Biojem1987:** I swear I can feel my mother's disapproval from all the way over there. 
> 
> **@Biojem1987:** It's like she's satellite-connected to my every fault.
> 
> **@Biojem1987:** Is that actually possible? You would know, wouldn't you? 
> 
> **@Biojem1987:** Also, I must say I'm both appalled and thoroughly unsurprised by your nutritional choices.
> 
> **@Biojem1987:** You might consider starting your day with an actual fruit. Like say, for instance, a banana? 
> 
> **@Biojem1987:** See what I did there? Appealing to your love of all things monkey to try and make you eat just a teeny bit healthier?
> 
> **@Biojem1987:** Is everything alright?

Fitz huffed a sigh. Ignoring Jemma's messages was proving much more difficult than he had anticipated, but after their missed connection in the elevator and the contradictory urges he'd been battling since, he felt like he needed a little distance.

> **@Biojem1987:** Fitz?
> 
> **@Engineering-chimp:** Sorry. Dealing with some work-related problems.

With that, he shoved his phone back in its pocket. Just days ago, he'd promised her he wouldn't lie to her. Quite a friend, he was.

"Alright, grumpy pants," Hunter exclaimed, dangling his own phone. "Bob says you're having dinner with us tonight." 

"I can't," Fitz replied automatically. "I have… things to do."

Hunter snorted. "No you don't."

"Hey! You don't know that," Fitz replied, affronted.

"Look, you've been brooding all day and it's clear you and your internet girlfriend had some sort of falling out–"

"No," Fitz cut in shortly. "We haven't, not really. And she's not– it's just–" He sighed again with frustration. "Things got a bit weird."

" _Oh, " _ Hunter said, his eyes widening. "I see. So, huh, I figure there was some kind of sexting incident?"

"What!? No!" Fitz squeaked, his voice jumping up an octave while he buried his face in his hands and rubbed his eyes energetically. "Nothing like that. I wouldn't–"

"Okay, okay, cool down." Hunter raised a pacifying hand. "You can tell Bobbi all about it tonight, okay? God knows she's better at this than me."

"Now, I definitely have something lined up for tonight. And every night after that for the next couple of years."

"Come on, mate, don't fight it, or the missus is gonna be pissed at us both. Just show up, have some pizza and beer, make a few non-committal noises when she asks you a direct question and then you can go back to your man cave. Sound good?"

Fitz rolled his eyes at the ceiling before asking, "Extra pepperoni?"

***

"So," Bobbi said with a deceptively sweet smile the moment they were all seated in her and Hunter's surprisingly cozy living room."Tell me about  _ her. _ Jemma, is it?"

Fitz gaped at her for a few seconds before he turned to shoot Hunter a betrayed look.

"Oh, don't look at him like that," Bobbi smirked. "I was curious, okay? I used my feminine wiles."

"I'm powerless against those," Hunter acquiesced around a mouthful of pizza.

"There's nothing to tell," Fitz said dismissively. "It's just someone from work. We never even met."

"Yeah? Why is that?" Bobbi asked with a troubling gleam to her eye.

"I knew it," Fitz grunted with an air of reproach. "I knew it was a trap."

"Oh, come on," Bobbi rolled her eyes. "We're just trying to help."

"I don't  _ need _ help, Bob."

"Well, I beg to differ," she said in a tone that suffered no contradiction. Bobbi Morse could be quite scary when she wanted to be. "Look, I was going to give you 'till the end of the year–"

"P-Pardon me!?"

"–clearly, it can't wait any longer. You're throwing your life away, Fitz, and it's just getting too... painful to watch. What happened to you was horrific–"

"We are  _ not_–"

"–but it certainly doesn't have to make you a recluse. You're one of the good guys, always have been, and she'd be damn lucky to have you."

At that, Fitz looked down to his plate, missing the flash of sadness on her face.

"Maybe it  _ is _ a trap," Bobbi said, her voice tight as a wire. "Maybe we'll have to trick you into being happy. But you know what? I don't care. Not one bit."

The silence stretched between them, with Fitz glaring holes into the table, his lips pressed into a tight line, while Bobbi stared at the top of his head with stubborn defiance.

"So," Hunter piped in awkwardly, his voice trailing off. "Anyone want another slice?"

***

When Fitz crashed on his couch that night, his head was reeling from his conversation with Bobbi. He checked his phone for the first time that evening to find he had no new message, and felt an instant pang of yearning.

Another few days like this one and he would watch his virtual relationship with Jemma fizzle and eventually dry out. But wasn't it the plan all along?

He tried to imagine it –their conversation turning stale and eventually non-existent, her fading away from his life completely– and had to admit that it felt wasteful and  _ wrong_. Still feeling a little buzzed from the few beers he'd had after dinner, Fitz started typing before he could second-guess his gut instinct.

> **@Engineering-chimp:** Sorry I went radio silent. It's been a really weird day.
> 
> **@Biojem1987:** It's okay. 
> 
> **@Biojem1987:** I missed you, though.

Fitz stared at the screen for a moment, his heart thudding against his ribcage. It was insane. He didn't even know her. How could such a simple sentence get to him so completely? He'd never meant for any of it to happen. In fact, he'd spent the past year digging trenches around himself to make sure it didn't. Who was this girl who insisted on ruining all his efforts?

The sensible side of his brain contended he should he left it at that. Instead, he typed two little words that felt more dangerous than they had any right to be.

> **@Engineering-chimp:** Me, too.

 


End file.
